


Civil War

by bioticbootyshaker



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Purgatory, Sexual Tension, handjob, vampire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-22
Updated: 2013-07-22
Packaged: 2017-12-21 00:51:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/893871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bioticbootyshaker/pseuds/bioticbootyshaker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trapped in Purgatory with Benny, Dean notes that the only time there's any kind of brightness, taste, or vibrancy is when Benny is kissing him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Civil War

Fighting against your nature was never easy. Dean knew firsthand how difficult it could be to deny everything you were for the sake of some dim sense of honor. His whole life he’d been battling against what he knew to be true about himself, and what his father had expected of him. He’d known, even when he was young, that he was good for more than hunting; that he was worth more than how many monsters he could kill in eighteen hours and how little sleep he needed to fire between something’s eyes at a hundred paces. He knew all the little tricks of the trade, even some he hadn’t shown Sammy, and he knew that they didn’t amount to much. 

He’d fought against himself for so long that it had become second nature. His thoughts drifted seamlessly between understanding there was more he could be doing, there was more he could be experiencing and feeling, and knowing that he didn’t have a choice. Dean was his father’s son in every way; committed to the cause now, no matter how often the cause and the circumstances changed. 

So when he looked at Benny, he saw a kindred spirit in a lot of ways. He knew his old man would’ve been pulling out his hair over Dean finding anything in common with a vampire; but his old man was dead, and he was damn tired of pretending he was better than anyone. The way Dean saw it, there was always a little humanity in monsters, and a little monster in humanity. It didn’t matter which way you sliced it. The truth would always be the truth.

They’d found some clearing to rest in, though Dean doubted they could stop for long. They were being hunted. Maybe not as fiercely as Cas was, but still; there really was no safe place they could stay for long. Purgatory was filled with monsters, and none of them were Dean’s biggest fan. They wanted blood, and his blood was as good as anyone else’s. 

“Look like shit,” Benny said. He was leaned against the trunk of a tree, picking out dirt and blood from under his nails with a switchblade. Dean knew he was a vampire, but even for a vampire Benny looked exceptionally pale, drained and gray and lifeless. The whole place looked like that, really. Purgatory was devoid of color and vibrancy. Sound was hollow and flat. The smell was wrong, too. It was as though someone had reached into Dean’s head and pulled the plug on his senses. 

“Good,” Dean returned, roughly. “ _Feel_ like shit.”

Benny chuckled. It didn’t seem like he had much to chuckle _about_ , but Dean was too exhausted to give a shit. Tired was probably too mild of a word. After everything he’d been through, he was honestly exhausted. Down to his bones and heart and soul, he was exhausted, and all he really wanted was to rest. Maybe forever. 

“Can’t give up on me yet,” Benny said. “C’mon. Keep them pretty eyes open, boy.”

Dean looked at him, his head leaned against the trunk of a tree that honestly felt far too soft and pliant to be real. He blinked, slowly, expecting Benny to laugh the remark away, or maybe ask him what his goddamn problem was, staring at him like that. Instead, Benny looked up from his filthy nails, meeting Dean’s eyes squarely. 

Benny shrugged. “This place does some messed up shit to your senses, but I ain’t blind. So stop acting like no one’s ever told you those eyes are pretty.”

Dean smiled. “Yeah, whatever.”

“Bet that angel of yours has told you plenty,” Benny murmured. He looked studiously at his nails, as though they had become the most interesting things in the universe. “Sure does spend an awful lot of time lookin’ into ‘em.”

“Cas is---” Dean stopped, thinking. What was Cas, exactly? They’d been through Hell together -- quite literally -- and they’d overcome too many things to name. Betrayal, lies, blood, death, pain... It was fucking complicated, and it made Dean’s head hurt just to think of it. “---A good friend,” Dean continued. “Doesn’t really know what personal space is.”

“Yeah, I kinda got that,” Benny said. Dean didn’t know what was up with him. He was acting weird. Usually when a vampire acted _strange_ Dean would be on high alert, ready for them to go for his throat, but Benny wasn’t acting like he was starved for blood or in need of a quick bite (pun definitely intended). He was acting like he was preparing himself for something, testing the waters with Dean before he made some kind of offer. If what he wanted was to keep moving, he only had to say so. Dean was exhausted, but he could walk.

“You like when he gets in your face?” Benny asked.

Dean swallowed crooked, sputtering and coughing.

“ _What_?” He asked, hoarsely.

Benny looked at him, squarely again. Maybe he wanted to look away, but he didn’t, and Dean could respect him for that. 

“You heard me.”

Yeah, he’d heard him. That didn’t mean he _understood_ him. Was he asking if he minded Cas’ naivete when it came to boundaries, or was he asking if he enjoyed having Cas in his face, with his breath on him and his lips close to his and---

“Yeah, sure,” Dean said. He shrugged and turned his face up to the sky. It was gray and bleak, and he closed his eyes. “Why not? Gets on my nerves sometimes, but he’s an okay looking guy, so yeah. Why the hell not?”

 

His senses were dulled, but he still felt breath on his throat. His eyes flashed open, and Benny was there, breathing against his neck, his thick body bearing down on Dean’s chest. His instinct was to attack, to grab the nearest weapon he could find and cut off his fucking head; but that was his father’s nature, not his. Dean was tired of fighting against his nature, of killing himself to please a father who wasn’t there and a brother who didn’t need him anymore. He was curious, in spite of himself. He was curious to see what the hell Benny wanted. 

Benny’s fangs weren’t out, that was Dean’s first clue that he didn’t mean to attack him. If he’d wanted to, he could have already. And besides, why would he? Dean had agreed to work with him. Without Dean, Benny was stuck in purgatory, unless he came across someone else who was trapped there and willing to trust him enough to work with him. 

“Somethin’ you want?” Dean asked. “‘Cause I gotta tell you, you’re kinda in my personal bubble here.”

Benny grabbed hold of his cock through his jeans. Dean’s senses might have been dulled, but he felt that well enough. Funny, he should have shoved Benny back, chewed him out a little for being so fucking handsy. He should have, at the very least, let him know that he was cute and all, but he wasn’t really in the mood or the right state of mind to fuck in the middle of a forest in Purgatory.

_Should have._

Instead, Dean lifted his hips and pressed himself tight to Benny’s hand. It didn’t matter. He had nice hands, big and strong and rough enough to get him off. It didn’t matter that he was a monster, because Dean was too. 

Dean was frantic. He wanted some kind of good feeling, that was all. It didn’t have to mean a whole hell of a lot. It didn’t have to be analyzed and obsessed over and dissected. All he wanted was a good, heady rush, something to cut through the haze of the place. If he got that rush with Benny, it was fine. It was fine.

He kissed Dean’s throat. There was a tense moment between them, where Dean felt his belly get cold and hard, and the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He was trusting his throat and his pulse and his _life_ to a vampire.

All Benny did was kiss him. He used his tongue a little, but never his teeth. Dean sighed and shifted closer to him, letting Benny shove his jacket from his shoulders and unfasten his jeans. He licked his palm and shoved his hand under Dean’s boxers, not bothering with finesse or gentleness. He wanted to get him off. Dean could see the hunger in his eyes. Not bloodlust, but carnal. He wanted Dean to come, and that was good, Dean wanted to come. He wanted that bright, hot moment when he reached the edge and fell over. He wanted to be momentarily breathless, and blind, and trembling from something too strong and wild to be defined.

“You’re the only thing that _smells_ here,” Benny said. Dean wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or an insult, but considering the fact Benny was licking his neck and jerking him off, it was probably a compliment. “Like fuckin’... sweat and dirt,” Benny continued. He was growling, like he hated Dean for smelling too strong; like he hated Dean for no belonging in Purgatory. But he didn’t hate him, not exactly. It was an emotion Dean knew well, one that got caught in your belly and climbed like fire through your chest and throat. It fucking hurt, and it felt good, and it ate you up. 

Dean kissed him, hard. Benny’s fangs descended, catching Dean’s lips and tongue. He tasted his own blood, and it didn’t matter. He was rocking his hips up and Benny was squeezing on his dick and he was panting into Dean’s mouth and _it didn’t matter_.

“Shit,” Dean gasped. “Shit, shit.” 

He looked into Benny’s eyes, his own half-lidded and blurry. He could see the fire in them, though, and a look that almost screamed: _Not your fucking angel, boy, but you don’t care, do you?_

No, he didn’t care. It felt too good to care. It felt too _right_ to care. For all the trouble Dean had gone to his entire life battling against his nature, he had never bothered to fight against what felt good and what felt right. Maybe he should have, looking back on all the times he had let the wrong head lead him into trouble, but he had always submitted readily to what made his toes curl.

Benny was damn good at making his toes curl.

Dean came. He tried to shout, but it got caught in his throat, locked behind his teeth. He closed his eyes and rode the wave of his orgasm slowly, wanting to hold onto it a little longer. Maybe forever, if he could get away with it. He was blind, and breathless and trembling. He was, for a moment at least, completely removed from everything. He was weightless. He existed in a place where no one expected anything from him and he could just exist.

Benny licked up the blood from Dean’s lips, humming at the back of his throat. He sounded good. There was a depth to the noise Dean hadn’t heard before. He could smell his blood, coppery and strong. Dean wasn’t sure what had changed, but he was glad for it. He didn’t want to be cut off from everything, left to exist in some place without sound and color and taste.

His blood was bright red on Benny’s mouth. 

“Wanna cuddle or something?” Dean asked. Benny grunted and slipped back from him, resting his back against the tree. 

Dean could see the shape of his cock straining against his jeans. He reached out and Benny gripped his wrist, tossing his hand away. “Don’t sweat it,” he said. “Don’t need nothing from you.”

To say he was confused would be an understatement. The guy had just given him a handjob and licked up his blood like Dean was some kind of delicacy, and now he was entirely aloof, like nothing had happened. Maybe he was feeling guilty or something, or maybe he’d gotten what he wanted from him; either way, Dean couldn’t be bothered to care. He hardly knew the man, and if he wanted to brood and go back to picking the gunk out of his nails with a knife, he was free to do that. 

“Yeah, whatever,” Dean said. “You ready to get a move on or what?”

Benny laughed. “Shit, yeah,” he said. “Let’s go.”

~*~  
They didn’t talk about it. 

Good.

When they were free of Purgatory, they still didn’t talk about it. Dean cut himself open and bled fire and brought him from the hell of nothingness, and they didn’t talk about it.

Benny kissed him, though, hard, with his hand tight on the nape of Dean’s neck.

“We did it, brother,” Benny laughed. “We fucking did it.”

“I’m not your brother,” Dean said. Softly, dazedly, like Benny had gotten him high or something. Or maybe he was dizzy from everything. Dizzy from freedom and sound and light and noise and the force of Benny’s kiss. 

“Yeah,” Benny chucked. “Okay.” He rested his forehead against Dean’s, tucking his thumb under his jaw. It was a pretty intimate way to hold someone, a pretty gentle way. The weirdest part was that Dean didn’t feel the need to pull away. He didn’t feel the need to pound on his chest and be the Alpha. He was fine with the feel of Benny’s breath on his lips, and his hand on his neck, and his thumb stroking his jaw. He was fine with it. He closed his eyes and breathed in through his nose. He smelled earth, and rain, and Benny’s sweat. 

Good.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for cipriharald on tumblr! <3  
> Bear in mind I haven't seen SPN past the end of Season 6, so if something is a little off, that's why.


End file.
